by Penny Reid
“You can call me Dan.”
“Then have a pleasant evening, Dan.”
“You too, Eugene.”
Cracking up, I ended the call. Splitting my attention between adding Eugene’s new number to my contacts and checking our progress on the runway, I decided I really liked this guy. No wonder Kat felt comfortable calling him Uncle.
You know how you have fantasies about everyday shit? Like someone doing a good job on your quarterly tax returns, baking you a cake for no reason, or sweeping up all the dog hair in the corners of your apartment?
Guess what? My apartment smelled like cake.
The scent of vanilla was the first thing I noticed as I entered. Leaving my bag by the door, shutting it, locking it, and then tossing my suit jacket to the chair in the hall, I inhaled deeply. Fucking heaven, that smell.
The second, there were no traces that Kat lived here. No shoes by the front door, no coat in the closet, nothing.
Third, Wally was nowhere to be seen.
“Wally?” I whispered, not wanting to wake up Kat. Even though I didn’t see any of her stuff, I assumed she was in her room asleep.
Toeing off my shoes, I unfastened my cuffs, loosened my tie, and undid the first few buttons of my shirt while I strained for the sound of my dog.
Silence.
“Hmm.” I frowned into the darkness. He was probably all cozied up next to Kat, unwilling to move.
Next to my wife.
Now there was a thought made to erase a frown. Not going to lie, the fact that Kat was my wife—and that was a fact—also did things to me.
Using light steps, I strolled into the great room, intent on the bureau where I stashed my mail. I almost didn’t see the figure on the couch—almost—but she moved at the last minute, stopping me in my tracks.
Pushing back the blanket covering her and lifting herself to a sitting position, Kat’s sleepy voice said, “Dan?”
I held my breath for a second, maybe four, as I took in the sight of her. Her hair was in a ponytail, or a braid—yeah, a braid—over her shoulder, and she was rubbing her eyes. She wore a tank top of undistinguishable color. The room was dark, but city lights from the windows illuminated enough.
She was gorgeous.
“Hey,” I said into the grayish darkness, stuffing my hands in my pockets and keeping my tone soft. “What are you doing out here?”
At the sound of my voice, a furry head lifted and a tail tapped out a slow beat against the leather couch. Wally sneezed, and leaped down from where he’d been sleeping. Taking a moment to stretch and shake, he walked over to me as best he could given the fact his tail was wagging so hard now it almost knocked him over.
“I wanted to see you.” Kat yawned, placing her feet on the ground like she was planning to stand, but paused to fold the blanket she’d been using and draped it neatly over the back of the couch.
I squatted to accept Wally’s affection, scratching him behind the ears and patting his back. “You take good care of my lady while I was gone?” Wally snuffed, and I had to dodge a lick straight to the kisser. “Whoa. Settle down, boy. Buy me a drink first.”
The light, musical sound of Kat’s laughter filled the air, and something in me that had been on high alert since learning Caleb was in town shifted.
It eased.
It settled.
Now for the tenth time since hanging up with Eugene, I thought, Thank God she moved in. I knew she’d be safe here. I’d been counting on it. But hearing her laugh made me think maybe she was happy, too.
I stood and so did she, her arms crossed over her middle. Wally continued to dance around my legs as I looked at her. I was tired, but not too tired to notice all she had on was that tank top and the smallest shorts I’d ever seen. The effect on my pulse was instantaneous.
“Come here,” I said, speaking a wish.
Kat stepped around the coffee table and shuffled over to me, her eyes on mine, clearly in a wish-granting mood.
“I missed you,” she said, her words slurred with what I assumed was sleep. Standing in front of me, she made no move to close the final few inches, so I lifted her arms to my neck. Her chin lifted to keep looking in my eyes, like we did this. Like every day I came home and she was waiting for me on the couch, baking me cakes, wearing (almost) my favorite outfit.
I fucking loved it.
Even as I touched her, my hands coming to her body, the heat of her skin beneath my fingertips, my greediness for this woman arrested my lungs. That new aching sense of rightness, the one that had replaced the shitty feeling in my chest, took hold, sinking hooks and anchor into me.
“Kiss me,” I said, another wish.
She did. Her arms twisted tighter and her sweet lips brushed against mine. Unable and unwilling to prolong the moment, I crushed her to me and invaded her, the stroke of my tongue an echo of what I really wanted.
Kat tasted like mint and heat and something else. Something distinctively her that made me want to taste every inch of her body. I wanted more, of course I wanted more, and the more I wanted oscillated between the fucking hearts and flowers and happily ever after variety, and the just plain fucking variety.
Images of me pulling down her top and worshiping her bare breasts flashed behind my eyes. Maybe she’d like it when I sucked her into my mouth; maybe she’d squirm when I stroked her over those tiny shorts; maybe she’d let me peel them down her legs as I knelt and opened her, spread her, and tasted her hot, wet—
“Dan,” Kat pulled her mouth from mine, her breath ragged. “We need—”
I chased her mouth for one more kiss.
Just one more.
Because as tempting—so fucking tempting—as the promise of my overheated imagination was, the hearts and flowers part reminded me that there was too much unresolved. We needed to talk before we had a repeat of our kiss-turned-soft-core-porno at the Clerk’s office.
Plus, I was tired. If or when things escalated, I didn’t want sloppy one-hour jet-lag shagging. I wanted sports drinks and carbohydrates at the ready for a fuckathon of twelve to seventeen hours, with a warm up and cool down period. And a hot tub.
I softened the kiss, reluctantly loosening my hold so I could lean away.
“Hey, Kit-Kat.” I struggled to keep my voice steady, keep my eyes on hers, and keep the raging hard-on in my pants from unduly influencing my next two or three decisions.
Her chin still tilted upward, her eyes still closed, she said, “Hey, Dan the Security Man.” The words were still slightly slurred, and this time I heard how sleepy she was in the sloppy way she said security, too many syllables.
I lifted an eyebrow at her. “You okay?”
Her eyelashes fluttered open and she stared at me, her lips parted. “Uh . . . just a little tired.”
“Hmm.” Unable to help myself, I pressed my lips to hers one more time before separating our bodies, sliding my hands down her arms and raising her knuckles to my mouth for more kisses.
“Thanks for waiting up.” I kissed her right hand. “Did you bake me a cake?” I kissed her left hand.
“Yes. Cake.” She sounded and looked dazed, watching me trail my lips along her fingers.
“Can I have some?”
She nodded, her eyes trained on her wrist where I kissed the soft skin of the inside and then licked it. Kat shivered, releasing an unsteady breath.
I grinned, liking her reaction. I liked how she clearly needed time to gather her wits after waking up. I liked her being here. I’d like it better if I hadn’t tricked her into moving in.
The thought was a wet blanket to the face and the nuts. I sighed, lowering her hand and tugging her to the guest room. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going back to sleep.”
Three more steps and then she stopped suddenly, bringing us both to a halt. “What? But you just got home.”
“Yeah. I’m going to sleep, too. After I eat some cake.”
Kat turned, now she was tugging
us toward the kitchen and she said through a yawn, “We’ll have some together. You tell me about your trip, we’ll catch up. Then we’ll sleep.”
She sounded better, her words more solid, so I gave in. Allowing her to push me into a dining room chair, she placed a quick kiss on my cheek and then left me, turning to the cupboard. She stood there for a minute, frowning.
“What was I doing?”
“Cake?”
“Yes.” She nodded once, then shook her head. “Yes. Cake. Sorry. Still sleepy.”
Kat pulled plates out of the cupboard, setting them very, very carefully on the counter like she was afraid they would break. The kitchen was illuminated by a single light from above the stove, but it was bright enough that I could see the counters were absolutely spotless. If she’d baked the cake in this kitchen, there was no sign of dirty dishes or pots and pans.
Also, her tank top was blue and so were her itty-bitty shorts.
“How was the flight? Did you get any sleep?” She yawned again.
My stare lifted from her backside and I leaned my elbows on the table, rubbing my eyes. “It was—uh—fine. Got work done. I slept when we left, but not much after that. How was work?”
“Good. The reports I finished last week for my boss—I texted you about them—she wants to share with a potential investor.” Kat set the plates, forks, and a big, round Tupperware container on the table. She turned away again, grabbing two glasses and moving to the water dispenser in the door of the fridge.
“Oh. That’s great. Right?”
Kat grinned at me, like she thought I was cute. “Yes. That’s great. It’s exciting. Well, it’s as exciting as my work gets. It means she was impressed with my work.”
I returned her smile automatically, because there was no way I could see her smile and not return it.
But then, as she finished filling the last glass, she said, “Oh, I’m almost completely moved in. Anything we have in duplicate, like dishes and such, Stan said I could put mine in the basement storage.”
My neck itched (to the surprise of absolutely no one), and holding a smile became impossible after that.
Tell her. Confess.
If I told her now, she might not give me cake.
Daniel, confess.
But . . . cake.
No cake until you confess.
Shit.
“So, uh.” I itched my neck. “I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Kat brought the waters to the table, sitting across from me.
I gathered a deep breath, prepared to spill my guts, but then she opened the Tupperware to reveal a cake.
But not just any cake.
This cake looked like something out of a magazine. The frosting was smooth and burnished, varying shades of dark blue, like the night sky complete with little gleaming dots for stars. In the center of the cake were the words “Welcome Home Dan” in bright green, yellow, and blue surrounded by what looked like fireworks. It wasn’t huge, but it was definitely the most impressive cake I’d ever seen.
I frowned even as my mouth watered, because—intricate or not—it smelled like cake. “You made this?”
“Yes.” The hint of uncertainty in her tone drew my attention to her face. She looked regretful as she sat across from me and I couldn’t figure out why.
This woman is magical. Why would she regret her own magic?
“I . . .” I huffed a laugh. “You decorate cakes on the side or something?”
“No.” She shook her head, not smiling, her eyes watchful and wide. Even in the dim light I could see she was blushing.
“This is—I mean, this is the most amazing cake I’ve ever seen. It’s unbelievable. I feel like I need to take a picture. Are we allowed to eat it?”
“I’m sorry, it’s too much.” She twisted her fingers, two wrinkles appearing between her eyebrows. “I thought I’d try—I’m sorry.”
“Hey. No. No way. Never apologize for being amazing, otherwise I suspect you’d be apologizing all the time. Although, if it tastes as good as it looks—even one tenth as good as it looks—I might die. You might murder me with happiness.”
A tentative smile brightened her face. “Murder you with happiness?”
“Cake is my favorite. I’d eat it for every meal if I could and not get the diabetes.”
“The diabetes?” Her mouth kicked up.
I reached for the cake and the knife she’d brought over; it might be the world’s most impressive looking cake, but it was still cake. What good was a cake if you didn’t eat it?
“My Uncle Kip has the diabetes, almost lost his leg a year ago.”
“Kip? I thought his name was Zip.”
“No. Zip is a different uncle.” I sliced into the cake, dishing her out a piece first. “Zip has the metal plate in his head and his cellar smells suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“Vinegar and chili or something.” Passing her the slice, I admired her cake’s intricate interior. The bottom half was chocolate and had the consistency of a brownie; the top half looked to be vanilla; and she’d put raspberry jam—or something that looked, smelled, and tasted like raspberry jam—between the two layers. “He was in the hospital for over a month. And you know what my aunt did when he was discharged?”
“Zip?”
“Kip. With the diabetes.”
“Got it. What did she do?”
“She baked him a cake.” I glanced to the ceiling, appealing to heaven for patience. “My Aunt Sheila means well, but she’s dumb as paint.”
Kat chuckled a little, but when I looked back to her, she was shaking her head at me. “That’s not nice.”
“Sometimes the truth isn’t nice, but that doesn’t make it any less of a truth. If people stop telling the truth just because it might hurt someone’s feelings, what good does that do? I’d rather have a painful truth than a cushy bed inflated by lies. Besides, Aunt Sheila made her husband a cake after he’d been hospitalized for eating too many cakes. She’s either working a long game, trying to murder him with vanilla frosting, or she’s two sandwiches short of a picnic.”
Careful to get the brownie layer, raspberry jam, vanilla cake, and blue frosting all at the same time, I shoveled a piece of the cake into my mouth while she laughed.
And then I moaned.
“This is the best fucking cake in the history of cakes,” I spoke around the bite, wanting her to know as soon as possible. I motioned with a wave of my hand to the piece on my plate, the Tupperware, to her. “Magical.”
She laughed again, more like a giggle this time, shaking her head as she watched me. I watched her right back, because she was licking frosting off her fork, her tongue a shade of blue from the confectionary night sky.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Swallowing, I lifted an eyebrow at her. “Like it? I love it. I’d marry it, but I’m already married to you.”
That made her laugh anew and she took a sip of water, watching me eat over her glass’s rim.
I was almost finished inhaling my first slice when she asked, “What were you going to say?”
“Uh, more cake please?”
Grinning at me, she shook her head and served me another slice anyway. “No. Before that. You said you had something to tell me. What did you need to tell me?”
“Oh. Right. That.” Damn.
Rip the Band-Aid off, Daniel. Rip it off.
I set my fork back on the table next to the new piece of cake and I cleared my throat. “When we were driving to your place, before I left for Australia, while what I said about Wally was true—that I could use your help—I said it hoping it would push—or rather, guilt—you into accepting my offer to move in. It worked, and I’m glad it did, but I wanted to be honest about my intentions. So. There you go.” I crossed my arms over my chest, bracing for her reaction.
She grinned at me like I was something adorable. “I know.”
I felt my eyebrows jump on my forehead. “You know?”
“Correct.”
“Really?” I turned my head slightly, peering at her. “And you moved in anyway?”
“Our marriage wouldn’t look real if we didn’t live together, and I need it to look real. Knowing my cousin as I do, I wouldn’t put it past him to hire goons to take me to Boston, to lock me up while he pursued his case for guardianship.”
“Oh yeah, about that.” I heaved another sigh, shaking my head. “I have news. Eugene was trying to call you earlier—a few hours ago—and couldn’t reach you on your cell. So he called me right after I landed. Turns out, you’re right, Caleb did hire some guys to pick you up.”
Kat sat straighter like I’d startled her, her lips parting. “What?”
“He—they—flew in this afternoon and were waiting for you at your old place. Eugene wants you to sign the postnup ASAP.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew my phone, navigating to the DocuSign screen. “All you need to do is sign, then we’re done. I’ll email it to him. He wants me to make some broad statement about my lawyers preparing the document, I’ve already drafted the email. Let me see . . . here, sign here.”
I handed her my phone and pointed to the spot where she needed to sign with her finger.
She stared at the screen for a moment, her eyebrows knitted in plain confusion, then signed and handed me back my phone. “Why do you need to make it look like your lawyers drafted it?”
“My guess is he wants to make it look like he didn’t know anything about our marriage until after the fact. Lisa—you know, Nico’s sister?—she’s my lawyer, now our lawyer. She’s supposed to attach the postnup to the email,”—which I was sending to Lisa as we spoke—“tell him you’re married, your address has changed, and then it looks like he wasn’t involved. If he wasn’t involved, then it keeps him off Caleb’s radar and he can still feed us information.” I hit send and the email to Lisa was off.
All done.
She stabbed at her cake, still looking disgruntled. “I can’t believe Caleb.”
“You can’t?”
“No. I mean, I can. It’s just, I’m . . .” She stabbed at her cake again, and she was grinding her teeth.
“Pissed?”
“Yes.” She smiled like she surrendered. “Moving in here was a good idea. It was the best course of action given the constraints of time and resources. I saw through your ploy at the time, but it didn’t really matter. I was going to say yes anyway. And now, I’m gratef—I mean, I’m glad you thought of it.”
